Our Own Hands Against Our Hearts
by Meg-atron3
Summary: Darcy would happily follow Jane anywhere, including to her new job with Stark Industries, but she'd pretty sure getting kidnapped wasn't supposed to be part of it. Multi-chapter story with some Star Wars and Shakespeare references - because I can! Eventual Clint/Darcy, but it's gonna take them a while because... stubborn!
1. Chapter 1

This is my first multi-chapter story. I have it outlined, so I hope I can get it written and updated in a timely fashion.

* * *

When you came right down to it, it was all Taylor Swift's fault. If T. Swift didn't write such catchy, singable songs, Darcy might not have had the music all the way up in her headphones, which means she might have heard the goon squad before they hit her from behind. Of course, it could also be said that it was Jane's fault, since it was her haphazard way of tossing papers around the office that had forced Darcy spend what should have been her free evening sorting out the lab, since Darcy had a sixth sense about the difference between a crumpled piece of paper that was trash and a crumpled piece of paper that was super-important, but super-frustrating test numbers. Also, when you got right down to it, it was Stark's fault for not having finished up the new security measure in the new lab space.

So it was Taylor Swift's, Jane's and Stark's fault she was slowly freezing (and starving) to death in a tiny cell surrounded by a group of terribly cliche bad guys. Not that assigning blame was going to change anything for her of course, but it was a nice mental exercise. She had been singing songs, sometimes making up the words when she forgot them, but her throat was dry and parched and she'd finally leaned against the cold, slightly damp wall for a while to ponder whose head her untimely death would fall upon. She was clinging to a veneer of calm by her fingernails, a knot of terror and panic seething just below, waiting to bubble up at the worst possible moment.

There was no way to mark the passage of time in her windowless cell, but there seemed to be a sort of schedule, and it was probably almost time for Goon1 and Goon2 to escort her down the hall to be interrogated by HeadGoon. They seemed to be sure that (despite her best efforts to convince them otherwise) she must know something about Thor, the Bridge, any information to do with SHIELD.

Of course, she did, but the information that Darcy had was wholly unusable to the GoonSquad, since the fact the Thor likes Pop Tarts and has dimples on his butt isn't much help. But HeadGoon seems to think Darcy has some kind of special training to resist interrogation, and keeps bringing her in. Honestly, she was being totally truthful after the first few 'encouragements', and now she just said whatever popped into her brain, since the sooner she started talking, the sooner they stopped hurting her.

Thinking of the coming interrogation had brought the panic right to the surface, so she started singing again, working her way through the Beatles catalog in a way that would have made her mom proud. She'd made it through Hey Jude, Blackbird and Let It Be. She stumbled through Eleanor Rigby and was just starting Here Comes the Sun when a screw fell into her lap. Glancing up, she saw the florescent light fixture in the ceiling flicker, but continued to sing, thinking that of course crappy bad-guy prisons would have crappy light fixtures in them.

" _Here comes the sun, here comes the sun. And I say it's alright_." She shifted away from the chill wall, hugging her legs with her arms and rubbing dirty hands across even dirtier feet, trying to bring some warmth to her freezing bare toes.

" _Little darling, it's been a long cold, lonely winter. Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here. Here comes the sun, here comes the sun. And I say it's alright._ "

The light was flicking more strenuously now, plunging her little cell into fits of light and dark. She broke off the singing and was about to get up and call for a Goon to come fix the light, when a deep, quiet voice whispered from the flickering light.

"Please keep singing. It's covering the noise I'm making trying to bust you out."

Darcy froze for a moment, her mind weighing all the possible reasons she would be hearing voices from a fluorescent light. The best of course, was that there really was a rescue team in the ceiling and she should probably keep singing. More troubling was that she was actually starting to lose it, and imaging voices was the first stage of her descent into madness. In which case, singing didn't really matter. She decided to go with hope and kept on singing.

 _"Little darling, the smiles returning to their faces. Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here. Here comes the sun, here comes the sun. And I say it's all right."_ Just as she was about to break into the bridge, the entire light fixture swung downward like a hatch, one well muscled arm guiding it to it's apex, and a possibly handsome, though upside-down, head popped out into view before the whole room was plunged into darkness.

Darcy may have let out a small squeak of alarm, but really, who wouldn't when strange men are coming out of the light fixtures? He did some crazy gymnast thing and the rest of his body unrolled from a tiny space above the fixture before he dropped silently to the floor, his motions barely seen by the light coming through the door's window.

He crossed over to her in two quiet steps, then crouched down in front of her. "Darcy Lewis?" he asked in a whisper, his face close to hers, his short hair a halo of light around him.

She just nodded, not sure what she was supposed to do.

"I'm Agent Barton, I'm here to rescue you."

And then, because she's Darcy, and sometimes the filter between her mouth and her brain goes offline, she said the first thought that flitted between her ears. "Aren't you a little short for a storm trooper?"

She realized belatedly that she had said it rather loud, and he responded with a quiet huff of laughter before putting a finger to his rather full lips to quiet her. She could sense him smile behind the finger, imagine the laugh lines crinkle around his eyes. When she pressed her lips together, promising herself that she wouldn't utter another word if it meant she could get out of here, he graced her with a nod.

He leaned in a bit more and breathed into her ear, "You're going to go to the door and yell for a guard. Tell him the light isn't working. When he unlocks the door, you get to the corner and get low. Stay there until I get you. You understand? Stay there!" All of it was said in an urgent whisper, the imagined crinkled eyes and smiles were gone and she could only hear 'Agent Barton', who climbs through tiny holes and was probably going to seriously hurt some people. But, wow, did ever smell amazing.

Darcy nodded silently, clenching her jaw against the panic that was bubbling up again. She wanted out of here with every fiber of her being, but getting out was probably going to be dangerous, and Darcy was kinda feeling all out of bravery at the moment.

Barton rose to his feet in one fluid movement, extending a hand to help her up. She put her tiny, cold, dirty hand in his big, warm one and he pulled her to her feet. Of course, the sudden change in altitude made her see stars and she swayed for a moment before warm hands grasped her shoulders, keeping her upright when she would have fallen.

"You still with me, princess?" He whispered, tipping his head down to try to catch her eyes.

"Lightheaded," she whispered back. "I'm okay."

He let go of her, and she felt colder than ever. His hands had felt like heating pads on her shoulders, and she wanted to just press her body up against his warmth for a while. But Agent Barton had a plan, which evidently involved pulling a bag from the recess above the light and unfolding a... bow and arrows? The possibility of her own madness was looking up again.

She was staring at him in bewilderment for a moment before he caught her eyes again. A jerk of his head towards the door and she remembered what she was supposed to be doing. Taking a deep breath, Darcy pounded on the door, yelling though it with a hoarse voice, "Hey Goon-one and Goon-two! The light went out in here! Come fix the light!"

They were either standing guard outside the door, or had been on their way for an interrogation, because it was only the space of a heartbeat or two before she could hear the snick of a key in the lock. Remembering her part in all of this, Darcy scurried to the corner and crouched down low. A larger rectangle of light fell into the cell as the door opened, and Goon1 took a step in. Suddenly, he was falling backwards, clawing at an arrow that had suddenly sprouted through his neck. Darcy squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face to the wall. But she couldn't block out the sounds. Clattering and twanging. The meaty sounds of bodies hitting walls or floors. She both wanted to hear and really did not want to hear at the same time.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only 30 seconds, a warm, heavy hand gently touched her shoulder.

"C'mon, it's time to move," Barton said, once again offering her a hand up. He was slower in pulling her up though, giving her body time to adjust. His voice was still quiet, but no longer a whisper, and Darcy thought it was the most marvelous voice she had ever heard, deep and rich and comforting. Of course, she was sleep deprived and dehydrated and he was rescuing her, so he could have sounded like a cat in heat and she would have loved it.

"We're going to have to move fast and quiet, okay? You stay right behind me, move when I move, stop when I stop. No shoes?"

The non sequitur threw her for a moment before she glanced down at her bare feet. They'd taken her sweater and her shoes when they first tossed her in here, leaving her to freeze in a tank top and jeans. She shook her head and shrugged to say she didn't know where they were.

He clicked something on the collar of his tactical vest. "Widow, I have the package and we're on the move."

He paused, obviously listening to someone. "One problem. She doesn't have shoes." More listening, then Barton looked Darcy up and down and a smile crossed his face. "Got it. I'll stay with the package. Shouldn't be a problem. Hawkeye out."

He crossed to the open door, toeing a body out of his way as he glanced up and down the corridor. He looked back at Darcy then, giving her a pointed look. "Right behind me. Move when I move, stop when I stop, princess," he reminded her with a touch of mockery.

Darcy stepped towards him, crossing her arms across her chest, and trying very, very hard not to look at the bodies and the slowly spreading pools of blood on the floor. Tentatively, she reached out and hooked two fingers through a loop on the back of the agent's tactical vest. He looked over his shoulder at her, then down to her fingers and nodded. "Good girl."

The escape through the warehouse was something Darcy choose not to remember later on. It was full of moments of explosive running (with bare feet, over metal grating - not something to be recommended), silent hiding and horrifying moments where Agent Barton let loose one of his arrows and she heard the meaty thwack as it hit it's target. Darcy isn't one of those squeamish, fainting type of girls, but she's pretty sure it was okay to feel a little sick and overwhelmed with everything that had happened.

When he finally kicked open an exterior door, Darcy finally understood the shoe issue. It's midwinter, and the warehouse is in the middle of a huge field covered in snow. Not that she couldn't run through it barefoot if it was the only way out, but since she's still mostly whole at this point, the thought of losing toes to frostbite is less than appealing. Just as she's trying to figure this all out, Agent Barton removes her hand from the back of his vest and turns to look at her full in the face.

Darcy got her first good look at him too, and if she's weren't already just on this side of unconsciousness, she might have actually swooned. Light brown hair, blue-grey eyes surrounded by laugh lines, full lips and a ruggedly handsome face. And those arms... It should be criminal to have arms that are that attractive. He squints at her, tilting his head to look at both sides of her face before sighing.

"Damn. Sorry. I thought most of that was dirt." Without so much as a warning, his hand dips down and pulls up the hem of her tank top, exposing the series of cuts and blackish-purple bruises along her ribcage, gifts from the GoonSquad and their 'encouragement' to talk.

Darcy looks down and sees the rust red splotches of her own dried blood on her jeans and shirt. "S'okay," she says back, trying to smile her forgiveness at him, but the smile pulls painfully at the skin around her temple. Agent Barton drops her shirt and gently touches her head, fingers ghosting over cuts and abrasions.

His face hardens, and his eye flash with anger for a moment. "Definitely not okay," he growls back, his eyes glancing to the door they just exited, as if wondering if there are more people in there he could shoot. A squawk from his comm unit draws his attention back to the mission at hand.

"We're just outside the door. Give me three minutes to get clear, then blow this place all to hell." His voice is gruff and angry.

Another moment of listening, then, "Yeah, well, they did a number on her. Get out the med kit, she needs stitches."

He looks at her again, "I'm going to pick you up now, we need to get to the tree line. Hold on tight." He slings the bow across his back with practiced ease, then picks Darcy up in a bridal carry without so much as a grunt. And then he's off, running across the snowy field with her in his arms.

Darcy would like to imagine that it was all romantic and hero-like, but honestly, it was all she could do not to throw up on him. His arms were warm under her legs and across her back, but the rest of her was freezing, and she started to shiver uncontrollably. Not little shivers either, but full body ones that felt more like spasms. And her head hurt, and her stomach was rolling, and if her vision went black a time or two as well she wouldn't be surprised.

He made it to the tree line, then slowed to wind his way through the trees, his breathing heavy, but his grip never faltering. They'd been in the trees for only a few moments before explosions behind them lit up the sky with orange fire and a column of black, oily smoke. Darcy looked over his shoulder, leaning her cheek against him to watch the fire burn with a deep sense of satisfaction. She didn't even notice when she finally lapsed into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is up! Let me know what you think! Not much actually _happens_ in this one, but I needed to get Clint and Darcy in position for Chapter Three. (Not that position, get your mind out of the gutter!)

* * *

There is a steady beep somewhere in the room that is honest-to-god the most annoying thing she's ever heard. It must be one of Jane's machines. Something with data or reports or something. "Jane! The machine is beeping," she says. Or at least she tries. It comes out as more of an "Unufh!"

"Darcy?" That's definitely Jane's voice, but it sounds higher and more worried that Darcy is used to. With effort, Darcy finally gets her eyelids to cooperate, and drags them open, shutting them almost immediately when the light overhead is blinding. Trying again, she gets her eyes to focus on Jane's concerned face, hovering over her. Why is Jane concerned? Why is Darcy so... floaty? Why is she thinking of herself in the third person?

Her mouth is dry, her body hurts, and she has that weird stiffness that comes from sleeping too long in one position. What the hell did she and Jane drink last night? It's finally the smell that alerts her to the hospitaly-ness of her location, and then, in a wave, it all crashes back over her. Every terrifying second of the whole ordeal, all the questions and the pain and the horror. And for a moment, it's all too much, the fear and the relief, and Darcy is sobbing into a scratchy hospital pillow while Jane makes panicked soothing sounds and shouts for a nurse.

Something gets injected into her IV line, and a forced, blanketing calm descends on her almost against her will. The tears dry on her cheeks, and her breathing returns to it's normal rhythm, but the beeping continues. She wants to tell someone to turn it off, but sleep steals away her words and she sinks down into blessed darkness.

* * *

It takes her three more days of horrible hospital life before she's really up and around. The cracked ribs and concussion are slow to heal, the bruises and cuts only minor irritants now. By day four, she's pissing off the nurses and making demands of the doctors. So eventually, she's released into Jane's care, who promptly makes one phone call and gets them a fancy car ride home.

Darcy is only marginally paying attention as she's bustled out of the car and into the private elevators in the lobby of Stark Tower. It's not until the elevators open on an unfamiliar floor that she realizes they didn't stop on floor fifty-three, the floor full of apartments for Stark Industries employees that live on site.

"Where are we, Jane?" she mumbles as she takes in the wide open floor plan, windows showcasing the views of the city from a massive kitchen and an even larger living area.

"We got moved up a few floors, Darce. Thor kinda threw a fit about your safety, and we're up on sixty-five now." Jane carefully watches her face as Darcy processes the information.

"We're on the Avenger's floor?" Darcy asks.

"Yeah, you've got your own room, since, I, uh..." Jane actually blushes.

"You get to share with Thor, huh?" Darcy is at once happy for her friend's new room and bed-mate but also terrified that she'll be sleeping on her own tonight.

"Yeah... But you're right next door, and I will totally still come over all the time. It's just safer up here and Thor was really upset, I think they all were."Jane helps her down a few steps into the well appointed living room. "Do you want to go right to your room, or stay here?"

"I'll stay here. Just want to sit for a bit." She hated to admit it, but leaving the hospital had taken all the strength she had left. She really wants to see her new digs, explore the kitchen, meet a few more Avengers, but she's pretty sure she wouldn't make it more than a few steps at this point without a rather embarrassing face-plant.

Jane pulls out the brightly colored blanket Darcy's mom had sent them when they were still in New Mexico. Jane had brought it to the hospital to brighten it up. Taking hold of the comforting familiarity of the blanket, Darcy shuffles over to the ridiculously large couch and slowly lowers her body into it, careful of her ribs.

"I'm gonna go drop my stuff off, then I'll get you something for dinner, okay Darce?"

Darcy waves a hand in response, pulling the blanket higher over her shoulders. It felt so good to be warm and clean. The thoughts of the tiny, cold cell seemed to hit her at the weirdest moments, leaving her shivering with imagined chills. She sits for a few moments, watching the clouds over the New York skyline before someone clears their throat off to one side.

Tony Stark walks in front of the couch, perching on the edge of the heavy coffee table in front of her. He seems actually nervous as he looks at the bruises and cuts slowly fading on her pale face.

"So, I've got some things to say that are actually heartfelt, and then I'm gonna say something asinine and sexist before I go. Just so you know how this works." His dark eyes hold hers and she nods slowly.

"It's my fault, Lewis, and I'm sorry. I didn't get the security up when I should have and I didn't put the security measures on you that I should have. Hell, you're just a kid and I should have known better."

He probably had more to say, but Darcy interrupts him. "I already thought all that, Stark. And really, it's Taylor Swift's fault more than yours."

He gives her a questioning look and a trademarked Stark eyebrow lift. "What did T. Swift ever do to you?"

"Wrote catchy songs that I had turned up all the way in my headphones so I couldn't hear myself singing off key," she shrugs, or at least tries to before her ribs remind her not to.

"Well, still. This is for you." He hands her a smallish white box with an embarrassed grin. "And you'll be staying up here with the rest of the nuthouse from now on." He slapped his thighs and stood up. "Touchy stuff over! Drink? No drink for you, you're on pain pills. I'll drink yours." He was up and at the bar near the wall before Darcy could respond.

She opened the box up to find a brand new StarkPhone nestled inside. Engraved on the matte titanium back cover was "Darcy L Lewis - BAMF". She grinned at it and turned it on.

Tony was watching her from the wet bar. "It has all the music that was on your crappy i-Pod, and I added a few more. Plus if you ever feel the need to drown out your singing with headphones, Jarvis can still talk to you through it. He's loaded into the phone."

She gave him a sweet, genuine smile that he returned with a head nod and a sad smile of his own. She might not blame him, but it seems he still does. As he walked out of the room he called out, "Plus Jarvis is now in full-on babysitting mode on you Lewis. Enjoy the no-privacy thing!"

Darcy played with her new phone for the rest of the night. He wasn't kidding about the new songs, there were over 1,000 albums on it! Jane came back and made fussy motions near her to get her to eat, which she did. Eventually, the day of not doing anything seemed to catch up with her and she fell asleep on the gigantic couch.

At some point in time that evening, she realized there were strange voices murmuring quietly around her, but as Jane's feet were still tucked under her leg and Jane's voice spoke in quite tones with them, she ignored them. Even later, someone carried her to her own room, strong arms holding her gently but securely, smelling like soap and spices. She nestled down into soft pillows and fuzzy blankets and slept on, untroubled.

* * *

The untroubled sleeping lasted exactly one night. She spent her first day home from the hospital in bed really. New Stark phone, Jarvis ready to turn on any movie she wanted, Jane bringing her food from the kitchen. It was like the best sick day ever. Jane had said not to worry about coming to work for a few days, and Darcy was more than happy to not set foot in the lab for a while. But all the resting and avoidance caught up with her sometime around 2am the next night.

 _Pain. Horrible, burning pain along her ribs as a big, meaty fist connected with her side. "I ask you again, Ms. Lewis. Tell me what you know!"_

 _Darcy is gasping for air, her lungs refusing to inflate against the hurting ribs. Without breath, she can't answer, and the fist comes back down, breaking another rib. She felt that one break. The bone snapped with an audible crack, and the sudden stab of pain overrides her system and her lungs inflate with a gasp. The tears are falling down her cheeks and she can't even think of a lie to tell them. At this point, she wishes she knew more about Jane's research, because she would tell them all about it if the pain would just stop._

Darcy sits up with a ragged gasp, tears tracking down her cheeks, side burning as the healing breaks grind against her deep breaths. It's almost dark in her bedroom in the apartment inside Stark Tower but the ever-present glow of the city bleeds through the curtains and it's enough for her to crawl out of bed and stumble to the door. She's not even aware of what she's doing until she's standing in the hallway outside Jane and Thor's room, hand resting against the door.

She doesn't want to wake them though. Jane is already doing so much for her, she can't bear the thought of waking her up in the middle of the night for a nightmare. She feels like a burden right now. Just a stupid intern with nothing to offer, and a hell of a lot to lose. It's just a nightmare, walk it off, Lewis.

She's in the kitchen with a full kettle on the heat before the shaking starts. It starts in her hands, a slight tremor, one that she tries to shake off like the pins and needles of a sleeping limb. But then it's her whole body shaking. She can feel the tremors in her stomach, radiating out to her whole body. Her breathing is ragged and she feels like she's going to shake apart from the inside out. Everything is dimming and going dark and she can't seem to get a breath in, the shaking is so bad. It's cold and damp and she hurts so very, very much.

Suddenly, there are warm hands on her shoulders, turning her around and drawing her into a solid, welcoming chest. Strong arms wrap around her body, holding her up. A deep, gentle voice speaks soothingly into her ear, "Breathe. Just breathe. You're safe now." The comforting words continue as the warm arms rub up and down her trembling body. Darcy focuses on the rise and fall of the solid chest against her cheek, trying to match her own breathing to his. Slowly, the cold and dampness in her mind recedes and the trembling fades and she's back to herself.

Reluctantly, she pulls back from her savior, tilting her head back to look into a familiar, handsome face.

"Hey there, princess." Agent Barton says softly, strong hands running up and down her arms one more time before he takes a small step back and releases her.

"Hey," Darcy responds softly. Her brain takes a moment to catch up. "Why are you...? Do you...?" He just cocks an eyebrow at her as the pieces fall into place. Barton, arrows, rescue mission. Hawkeye, arrows, lots of rescue missions. "Right. Hawkeye, Avengers, gotcha."

"Knew you'd sort that one out eventually," he said. "Cup of tea?"

She blinks for a moment, realizing the kettle is just about to boil and then he's pouring water into two mugs and fixing her a cup of tea just the way she likes it and she's just standing there like an idiot. He presses one of the mugs into her cold hands and with a gentle hand on the small of her back, guides her to the soft couch of the living room.

She's braced for him to ask about it, to draw her out and make her talk... But he never does. Neither of them speak for the rest of the night. They drink their tea and he turns on a movie and the last thing Darcy remembers is a warm blanket being pulled up over her. And if she's got the beginnings of a little crush on her rebel-hero-rescuer, well, no one ever needs to know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 is up! It's a bit shorter than expected, but I decided to post what I had and break chapter 4 into two parts, since it'll be longer.**

 **I hate it when characters don't get along, so it's hard for me to write arguments. (Don't get me started on all my feels about Civil War!) Let me know what you think!**

* * *

A month later, Darcy was glad she had not confided her crush on Barton to anyone. He had turned from rebel-hero-rescuer to rebel-asshole-annoyance. After their second encounter in the kitchen when he talked her down from a panic attack, she thought they were on their way to a beautiful friendship. He was funny, smart and seemed to get along with everyone. Natasha loved him like a brother - well, not really a brother, because they had slept together for a while, but Nat said they ended it because they were almost constantly fighting and they were better off friends. Anyway, for a whole week, Darcy had nurtured a crush on Clint and everything had looked on it's way up.

Then he suddenly turned from sweet-and-funny to sarcastic-and-biting. He seemed to find a way to leave the room when she entered, his remarks to her were curt and just this side of mean and when they did spend any length of time together, she always ended up wanting to punch him in his slightly crooked nose. He was the only blemish on her otherwise spotless existence in Avenger's Tower.

* * *

Darcy took to living on the Avenger's floors like a duck to balmy, food filled, lots of super attractive other ducks to look at, water. Once her ribs were healed enough to venture out of her new apartment (and that would never get old - her own apartment on the same floor as an alien God, an assassin and a super soldier), she started kicking ass and making friends, same as always.

Thor and Jane were already her BFFs, and Tony was like a loud, possibly drunk uncle that she loved dearly and who doted on her in return. Getting on Bruce's good side proved no more difficult that learning how he liked his tea and making sure she moderated her voice level a bit. He was also now firmly in the 'beloved uncle' camp.

She had been nervous about Natasha, AKA The Black Widow, AKA she-who-can-kill-you-with-a-look, but meeting her was actually rather anti-climactic. Darcy had been 'recuperating' on the couch with a Firefly marathon when Natasha just appeared beside her on the couch. Darcy managed to contain the swear words in her mouth, but couldn't help the startled jump. Natasha didn't say anything, just relaxed back into the cushions and watched the rest of the episode as if materializing next to people was normal. Which it probably was for her.

When the credits of that episode rolled, Natasha stood up and looked down at Darcy. "Snack?" She asked.

Darcy just nodded mutely, wondering if this was a test, a poisoning perhaps? Did the word 'snack' mean something different in Russian? Still, she paused the show as the next episode started up. Waiting on Black Widow, she pulled her phone out and texted Jane, who was down in the lab.

: I'm watching shows with Black Widow. You know, just in case you never find the body.

: Also, she's fixing me food.

: Also, if I die, you can have my StarkPhone.

Knowing that Jane wouldn't even bother to check her phone if she was engrossed in Science!, Darcy sighed and tucked the phone away. Natasha returned a moment later, bearing two mugs. She handed one to Darcy, who sipped at it to discover it was coffee with a touch of sugar and cream, just the way she liked it. Natasha then pulled out a heap of cookies, wrapped in a paper towel. Laying it out on the couch between them, she regarded Darcy from the rim of her own mug.

"You did well, for a civilian."

"Huh?" Darcy was not sure exactly what they were having a conversation about.

"Kidnapping. Torture. You did well, and are healing well. Let me know if you ever want to talk about it. I have experience on both sides."

Darcy looked down and worried slightly at the tiny hole in her yoga pants, pointedly ignoring the 'both sides' part. "I kinda _don't_ want to talk about it. Ever."

"Understandable," said the tiny assassin. "When you're healed up, you should meet me in the gym. I think you would enjoy learning to fight."

Darcy looked up then, seeing the smile on Natasha's face. Was the Black Widow trying to be her friend? Darcy just nodded, not sure she wanted to learn to fight, but completely unwilling to tell _her_ that.

"Good, start the show. I like this episode."

"Cause you're pretty much River incarnate," mumbled Darcy, brain to mouth filter once again shorting out.

"True, but less crazy. Cookie?"

And that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Natasha turned out to not be the scary, emotionless spy that everyone made her out to be. She liked pop music and margaritas, enjoyed the adorable cat videos Darcy sent her, and could paint nails like a pro. And sometimes, when the nightmares came back, Darcy could knock on Nat's door and they would watch cheesy rom-coms on Netflix until Darcy fell asleep. Also, Darcy did like learning to fight.

* * *

Meeting Steve Rogers, however was not anti-climactic. It was very, very climactic. He had been gone from the Tower for a while, 'finding himself' on the road with a motorcycle or something. It was all very Easy Rider without the drugs and free love -or maybe not, what happens on the road stays on the road- Darcy thought, but kept that to herself.

Darcy was out to lunch with Jane and Thor one day, enjoying the culinary offerings of New York when Dr. Doom decided that Midtown at lunch hour was a great time and place for his new and improved Doom-bots. Thor was ever the protective gentleman and flew Jane and Darcy to a rooftop where they would be safe, but could still watch Thor flex his muscles and smash some bots. It was actually a rather enjoyable few moments. Like dinner theater with more destruction.

It was all going swimmingly, Thor taking out Doom-bots left and right, Iron Man sweeping in to clean up the edges, Jane swooning over her boyfriend's amazing arms. Just as the fight was nearing it's inevitable conclusion however, a second wave of enemies came in from a new direction, right towards Jane and Darcy on the roof. Iron Man came by, blasting a good portion of them into tiny metallic confetti, but not before one of the bots sideswiped Darcy, causing her to tumble off the rooftop.

Falling fifteen stories seemed to take no time at all, and Darcy couldn't even create a coherent thought. Her last words would have been "Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!" had she not been hit mid-air by a blur of denim and brown leather jacket. The wind was knocked out of her, her almost fully healed ribs creaked in protest and she landed with a thump on the sidewalk. Something was digging painfully into the fleshy part of her butt and the back of her head, and a muscley, warm arm was curled underneath her. Her rescuer was lying atop her, shielding her with his body, and Darcy was again in the position of thinking it would be a very romantic rescue if she weren't being suffocated to death by the heavy body on top of her. Seriously, how much could this guy weigh?

She hit the brown leather body with her hand, trying to get him to move. He shifted over her, raising up on his free arm, allowing Darcy to take a gasping breath of air. She stared up into bright blue eyes, side-parted blonde hair and a sheepish smile.

"You alright, miss?" he asked, pulling his body farther from hers as if embarrassed by their close contact.

"Peachy," she groaned in reply, shifting her back, trying to relieve the pain of that something bruising her butt.

With a loud 'thunk', Iron Man landed next to them on the sidewalk. The blonde shifted farther, looking up as Tony pulled back the faceplate to look at the couple entwined on the ground. "Welcome back to the Big Apple, Capsicle. Darcy, meet Steve. Steve, meet Darcy."

"Ma'am," he said politely, as if they were both standing around at a party with champagne in hand, not rolling around on dirty New York sidewalks. He struggled upwards, his arm under her pulling her upright along with him.

As Darcy's rump finally hit cold cement, she realized the sharp edges that had been digging into her were Captain America's shield, which had left a rather sizable dent in the sidewalk where they landed.

Tony extended an armored hand to her, pulling her to her feet. "You okay, kid? You're either the luckiest or unluckiest girl I know. Can't figure out which."

Darcy rubbed a hand across her butt, cursing the inevitable bruises. "Luckiest unlucky girl, definitely."

Steve looked inquiringly at both of them, a raised eyebrow asking for an explanation.

"She's Jane's handler, the one from the warehouse we got to blow up," Tony answered.

"Ah," Steve nodded knowingly. "Clint's..." Steve stopped mid-sentence at Tony's quick head-shake.

Darcy looked from one hero to the other, her eyebrow's raised. "Clint's what?"

"Nothin', short-stack," Tony answered quickly. "Let's get you home and let the medical staff check you out." Darcy could see right through the evasion, but held her tongue for once. Clint was a bit of a sore subject for her right now, and discussing it with Tony and Steve (still a stranger) was just asking for trouble.

Stupid Clint and his stupid attitude. His stupid blue eyes and stupidly perfect arms. And how he made her totally, utterly, unbelievably stupid every time she thought of him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four! Here is where we go all Shakespeare-y. If you haven't seen Much Ado About Nothing, this chapter might make less sense, but hopefully it's still good! Also, if you haven't seen Much Ado About Nothing, well, then we can't be friends. :)**

* * *

Darcy was being checked for a concussion down on medical and had no idea she was the topic of much discussion ten floors up.

"So, what happened?" Steve asked, leaning against the kitchen counter as Tony poured coffee into his 'This Is How Science Shit Happens' mug. "Last I heard, Clint had met his match."

"Game, set, match. Birdbrain is perfect for Short Stack and vice versa, but somewhere along the line, their wires got crossed and now... who knows?"

Natasha, Jane and Thor came into the kitchen then. "Darcy'll be okay. Bruce wants to watch her for another half hour or so, but he think's she's alright," reported Natasha.

"Glad to hear it. Hell of a way to meet a room-mate, though," replied Steve.

"It's just Darcy's way," Jane waved the comment aside. "Tasering people, getting kidnapped, falling off buildings. She doesn't do half measures."

Natasha eyed the group of people in the kitchen with a penetrating stare. "We need to do something about Clint and Darcy."

"Like what? Lock 'em in a room until they kill each other or have sex?" Tony got a bit of a maniacal look in his eyes as he spoke, obviously seriously thinking about it.

"Where is the archer right now?" Thor asked, eyes darting up to the ventilation shaft over the island. Everyone knew about Clint's prowling of the Tower's smaller spaces.

"He's at SHIELD HQ for an ops debrief about Bucharest. He'll be there for a few hours at least," Natasha assured everyone.

"Does the Lady Darcy even know of the man's feelings towards her? I have noticed he is most reluctant to share his deeper feelings."

"Loki messed him up real bad. Not that he was great with them before that either. I think he's struggling with the age gap, the hero/rescuer thing and the whole mortality issue."

"But he likes her?" Steve tried to confirm.

"I think even more than he is willing to admit," confirmed Natasha.

"And Darcy?" Steve turned to Jane.

"She never came out and admitted it, but I'm pretty sure it was getting there before things soured between them."

Steve gave a sad sort of smile. "No one should wait for their chance at happiness. You may not get a tomorrow."

"So do we have a plan?" Tony asked, getting to the heart of the matter.

"I _am_ the man with a plan... Has anyone read Shakespeare?"

* * *

Clint stretched out his neck in the elevator, rubbing calloused fingers along the knot that had formed at the intersection of neck and shoulder. Debrief meetings at Shield HQ always left him in knots. Too many people giving him the side-eye, too many whispered conversations that died down as he came within earshot. He was happy to take solo sniper missions across the globe these days. He needed to get away from the thinly veiled mutterings of distrust at work, the sad noises of pity from his roommates at home, and mostly, from the haunting eyes of one Darcy Lewis.

This life would see him dead sooner or later. He was a soldier, an assassin, an Avenger. He was lucky he had survived this long with no super soldier serum or iron armor to protect him. No, he was a raw nerve, exposed to everything he came into contact with, and that included witty, charming girls with pin-up figures and the courage to match. He was much too old to be mooning over some girl, and even if she could somehow see past the thirteen year age difference, there was no guarantee he would come back from the next mission a whole man, let alone alive. No girl deserved his baggage train of issues. And she didn't even like him, her snarky attitude made that pretty clear!

Arrrg! He needed to stop thinking about her! Every time he wasn't actively focusing on something, his mind returned to _her_!

The elevator chimed, and Clint exited into the Avenger's common floor, skirting past the living room to make his way to the private hallways.

"It's good to be home, Tony!" Echoed a voice from the living room. "Now, tell me about Darcy being in love with Clint?"

Clint stumbled over her own feet. What? Cap was back? Cap was back and talking with Tony about Darcy... loving him? Too many strange things all at once.

"I was not sure that Lady Darcy would love any mere mortal," came Thor's booming voice.

"Neither did I, but I find it hilarious that she's fallen for Legolas, especially since she seems to hate him!"

"Is she just... faking it? Her affection, I mean." Steve inquired, sounding confused.

"Fake it? You haven't heard her talk about him. It's positively... passionate." Tony answered with an exaggerated shudder.

"What does she say?" Steve asked with genuine interest.

"You heard my sweet Jane tell you..." Thor began, then lowered his voice. There was some whispered murmuring Clint couldn't quite hear. He crept closer to the edge of the doorway.

"That's amazing! Has she told Clint?" Steve sounded enthusiastic about the idea.

"No. And she swears she never will. It is her torment." Thor replied sadly.

"Shouldn't we tell him, if she won't?" Steve offered.

"To what end? He would but make sport of it and torment her worse!" Now Thor sounded upset.

"She is such as sweet girl, though. If she thought of me that way, I wouldn't reject her! I say we tell Clint." Clint felt his hands clench into fists at the thought of Steve and Darcy together.

"No," advised Thor, "Let the ladies counsel her in what to do."

"She'll wear her heart out before Jane and Nat come to any kind of agreement," warned Tony.

Steve sighed loudly. "I love Clint dearly. I wish he would honestly examine himself and see that he is worthy of such an amazing girl, and she of him." There was a pause in the conversation.

"Well!" cried out Tony, "I have stuff in the lab to do, let's finish this little chat later."

Clint barely had time to duck down the hallway before the three men emerged from the living room. He ran all the way down the hall to his room, his mind on fire with their words.

He would think it was a trick, except that Steve wasn't that kind of guy. And Thor was a terrible liar. It _had_ to be true! Darcy _loved_ him. Darcy loved _him_! He couldn't just ignore that, he had to tell her how he felt. She was a smart, beautiful, capable girl... uh, woman. He knew there would be some ribbing about his long bachelorhood and his attitude toward her until now. But those quips would not alter his feeling towards her. He loved her too, he realized.

His mind raced on the hamster wheel of emotions until a knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. Clint opened it to find the object of his rumination standing there, a slight frown marring her otherwise perfect face.

"Tony says Jarvis is down for maintenance, so I was sent to tell you that dinner is ready."

Clint tried for a sincere smile, but probably ended up looking a bit crazy instead. "Thank you, Darcy, for the trouble."

Her eyebrow arched in disbelief. "It wasn't any trouble, Barton," she said, clipping off the end of his name in agitation. "It it had been troublesome, I wouldn't have done it." She shook her head at him and stalked off down the hallway.

Clint leaned out the doorway to watch her disappear around the corner. "That could have gone better."

* * *

Darcy was awash in a sea of red, her thoughts angry and confused at whatever the hell that was that just happened at Clint's door. She was sure he had been teasing her, but she wasn't sure what about. His smile was too broad, his eyes a bit too crazed for it to be actual happiness. Plus, she was pretty sure he was incapable of feeling that particular emotion. Deep, wallowing self pity? Check. Arrogant, egotistical self-glorification? Totally. Mean spirited ten year old boy style humor? In spades. Happiness? Not so much.

So when she heard Clint's name come wafting from Jane and Thor's not-quite-closed apartment door, she slowed down for a bit of shameless eavesdropping.

"But are you sure Clint loves Darcy like _that_?" Came Natasha's mellow voice. Darcy's breath caught in her throat and she nearly stumbled into the wall. Wait... What?!

"That's what Steve and Thor say." Jane. The little gossip.

"And are they going to tell her?"

"They told me I should, but I don't think it's a good idea. For Clint's sake, I think he should just forget about her and move on." Darcy's mouth hung open, both with shock and betrayal at Jane's words.

"Why?" Natasha sounded displeased and Darcy was glad to hear she had at least one friend still in the Tower. "Doesn't he deserve at least a shot of happiness with Darcy? They seem well matched."

"Oh, it's not about Clint, he'd be wonderful for her. I know he deserves to be happy, but nature never made a prouder heart than Darcy's! Every guy she's ever set eyes on has always had some fatal flaw that only Darcy can see. She cannot love!"

"She does nitpick. It would be good then that she not know about his feelings for her. She would just make fun of him." Natasha the traitor. Did she have no friends anymore?

"I'll go to Clint and tell him to fight against his feelings. The poor man is going to be a wreck."

"How can someone so smart and wonderful like Darcy not see what a great catch Clint is?" Natasha wondered aloud.

"He is the best man around. Well, except for Thor, of course." Jane giggle. _Giggled_!

"Well, dinner is ready I suppose, and we should go before we're missed," Natasha's voice called out.

Darcy scampered back from the door and retreated around a corner to hide herself from the tiny assassin. Now her mind was racing with new thoughts. Thoughts of Clint and his silly smile only minutes before. Was that him trying to turn over a new leaf, let her know that he had feelings for her?

Her hand came up to cover her mouth in dawning horror. Had all those moments they'd had together, all those times he had said something witty, left the room after delivering another one-liner... Had he been flirting? Had she missed all the signs? She was so sure that he could never feel anything for her like she did for him, she'd never considered that he was just returning snark for snark.

Darcy stumbled back to her room, her heart thumping with anticipation. She would go down to dinner with the rest of the team. She would be kind, sweet, helpful. She would smile at Clint and _not_ be a snarky bitch. She would also brush her hair and wear something nice. If he really liked her... If he _loved_ her... Well, she obviously loved him back. Darcy had just laid out her favorite dark blue skirt when alarms sounded out throughout the Tower and Jarvis' voice came over the intercoms (wasn't he off-line?).

"Emergency call from the Helicarrier. They are under attack from forces unknown and request the Avenger's immediate assistance."

By the time Darcy had pulled clothes back on, sprinted out of her room, down the hall and to the Quinjet launchpad, the entire team was aboard. She pressed a fisted hand to her lips as her best friends in the world (and the man she loved), prepared for battle. Jane slipped an arm around her waist and Pepper stood on her other side, watching as the team took off.

The last Darcy saw of Clint, he was sitting in the pilot's seat, maneuvering the jet away from the building. She thought, perhaps, that he had looked right at her and nodded slightly before giving her a slight smile. It might have been wishful thinking though.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you all so much for being patient with me! Real life has gotten crazy and my laptop and I haven't had as much quality time as I'd like. But here is Chapter 5, and Chapter 6 should be up soon as well. Enjoy some great Shakespeare cribbing in the second part!**

* * *

Clint had the soul of a soldier and the mind of a sniper. He would lay down his life for his team, sacrifice himself to save a civilian, kill one man to save thousands. He could clear his mind of everything except the mathematical dance of ballistics, windage, air density. He could sit, body still and mind focused for days on end waiting for his quarry. Yet, as he pulled the Quinjet level with the Helicarrier, his mind was full of the wind-whipped hair and solemn blue eyes of Darcy Lewis, watching him from the launchpad. He pondered the sound of her voice as he landed the jet, he contemplated the fall of her dark curls as he shut down the engines and unstrapped himself, he speculated on the words they might exchange as he followed his team down the familiar corridors.

All those thoughts, however, were chased away by the horror of the fight they found aboard the carrier. It seemed as if not much could shock the Avengers these days, not after the Chitauri and the worm-hole of Certain Destruction, or Dr. Doom and his I-like-to-attack-New-York-when-the-Fantastic-4-are-on-holiday Doombots, or even the oddly helmeted AIM troopers, not to mention that one time with the weird squid thing they agreed to never talk about. But there was something horrifyingly shocking about whatever it was that had infiltrated the Helicarrier. Invisible and fast, they (it?) seemed to be everywhere, knocking everyone around like rag-dolls, scoring deep cuts into steel bulkheads and people alike.

Cap was calling out orders left and right, trying to instill order in the Avengers and Shield agents, the paint on his shield marred but the metal beneath un-marked. Nat was a red-headed blur, but he could see from the odd twist she made each time she landed that she had taken a hit. Tony was dashing around the ship, claiming he could almost see the attackers, but if his aim was any indication, he was as blind as the rest of them. After the third time Clint watched a fellow Shield agent killed by unseen assailants, he tucked his bow over his back and dashed down to the equipment room. He'd seen Predator. There had to be thermal imaging goggles in there somewhere!

He found them, two pairs, and slipped one over his eyes. His world fell into a kaleidoscope of colors, but it seemed to work, as there was suddenly a very elongated humanoid shape in front of him. He shot at it with his handgun, the bullets finding the white heat of the heart (oddly low) and then the brain (in the correct spot) with unerring precision. He informed Stark, who responded with a passible "Get to da choppa!" before Clint dropped into a ventilation shaft that led him to Cap's position. Thor and Steve were curious where he had come up with such a brilliant idea, and Clint couldn't decide if a team movie night featuring invisible aliens hunting humans for sport was artfully ironic or just crazy. Hitting the floor of the command center with a thunk, Clint tossed the goggles to Cap, then disappeared to find a higher perch.

He'd like to say that his quick thinking had turned the tide of the fight, but there were only two goggles and Stark's suit, so most of the team and all of the agents were fighting blind. Clint called out locations as quickly as he could, but the fuckers were fast! It was from his perch near the top of the command center that he watched Nat take on one of the creatures alone, without any visual cues. She landed some great hits of her own, and Clint did try to help, sending out a bullet or an arrow when the opportunity arose, but clean shots were few and far between. He couldn't see his target without the heat sensing goggles, but the goggles blurred the forms of the creature and Nat, not to mention the handful of other agents in the room. It was an all around suck-fest.

When he saw Nat's body fly through the air and smash into the wall, it was only decades of training that kept him from jumping down to her aid. He instead took the opportunity to sink two arrows into the skull of the creature that had done it. Small victories.

The battle only finally ended when a small portal opened in a maintenance hatch on deck E-6 and the invisible creatures turned tail and ran for it. Their dead also vanished and Stark was cursing a blue streak about it when the team regrouped near Natasha's now medic attended body.

"How the fuck am I supposed to safe-guard against shit I can't even see? I needed those corpses for research!" The faceplate was up and Tony looked unharmed, although the suit would need a complete overhaul. One leg joint was even spitting out sparks.

"It is magic, friend Stark. Magic of a most foul origin," Thor advised sagely.

Steve peeled off his helmet, sticky with his own blood as Clint sank down in a crouch near Nat. The adrenaline of battle was wearing off and he was suddenly very aware of numerous cuts and sore spots on his body. Reaction was setting in and his hands started to shake and his eyes watered as his brain started to process the emotions of battle. He hated this part, the reckoning of the dead, the tallying of wounds. He wanted to touch Nat, to make sure for himself that she was still breathing, still alive. Instead he clenched his jaw and knuckled the dampness out of his eyes.

"I shall away to Asgard. There is something about this attack that I do not like." Thor stepped away from the group and flew off with a crack of lightning.

"Let's get down to Shield HQ. They're going to want all of us through medical before we debrief." Steve looked like shit as he spoke, and Clint knew that if Cap looked that bad, he must look like death warmed over. Damn aliens and damn magic.

* * *

Her eyes were swollen and red and still leaking tears that rolled down her salt covered cheeks, but Darcy couldn't care less. Her focus was solely on the still, pale form of her best friend lying on the hospital bed. She wasn't sure even now, hours after she was allowed in the room to sit vigil, what happened to bring the indestructible Black Widow low. She was covered in bruises and cuts, and if the images of her skull pinned up on the walls were any indication, they're worried about her brain too.

A slight knock on the doorframe broke the silence. "Darcy, have you been crying all this time?" Clint's voice echoed in the still air of the hospital room.

"Yes, and I'll cry for a bit longer," she wearily snapped back. All thoughts of her promises of eighteen hours ago to be kind, sweet and helpful were gone from her head.

"I wish you didn't have to." His voice was gentle and kind, and as he stepped farther into the room, she got her first look at him since he took off in the Quinjet. His face and exposed lower arms were covered in the same bruises and cuts as Natasha, a particularly nasty gash on his temple had been stitched closed. He leaned wearily against the bed, a slight wince crossing his face as wounds hidden beneath his clothing pulled.

"It's not your fault, I do it freely," she responded, tempering her voice with their shared sadness.

"I'm worried about her too." He looked down at his long-time partner for a moment, giving Nat's arm a squeeze just above where Darcy held her hand.

Darcy dropped her head back onto her arm on the bed. "I just wish I could do something," she mumbled into the scratchy blanket. "Heal her, help you all fight, do _anything_!" Her words were met with a long silence, so she shifted slightly to look up at Clint, standing over her, watching with his storm-cloud eyes.

He shook his head slightly and licked his full lips before speaking quietly. "I love nothing in this world as much as you. Is that weird?" His voice was full of wonder and the slightest bit of trepidation.

"It would be possible for me to say I love nothing in this world as much as you too." Her words came out fast, breathy. Darcy couldn't tell what is bubbling up inside of her... terror, elation, love, worry. She started to sob again, words spilling out through her tears. "But don't believe that. Not that I'm lying or anything. I'm just not saying that. Not that I'm not _not_ saying it. I'm... I'm just so worried about Natasha!"

Clint crouched down in front of her at eye level, a smile puling at the corner of his mouth despite their current surroundings. "You love me, Darcy."

"Don't say things like that now if you're just going to regret it later." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, years of being second choice and 'not-quite-good-enough' forcing her to give him an out. To take the words back before they could really mean anything.

Clint somehow seemed to understand though, his eyes capturing her's and holding them, his voice low and gentle, but forceful with emotion. "I'll say it now, and later, and forever. I love you."

"Then forgive me," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and allowing a smile to break through her tears.

"For what?" He asked, taking her free hand in his.

"For not saying it first. I was still trying to find the words to tell you. You just... beat me to it, I guess." She pulled her other hand free from Natasha's cold one to wrap it around Clint's warm ones.

"Then say it and stop protesting so much." The roguish rebel-hero smirk was back on his face as he teased her.

"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest!"

"Poetic," he murmured as he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his.


End file.
